Caldera

Chapter 15: Carlie

Carlie grinned as she stepped out of the BMW X3 and took in the view of the sprawling Santo Domingo estate.

"What are you smiling about?" asked Tate, who joined her after exiting the other side of the car. "Looking forward to your homecoming?"

Carlie stood on her tiptoes and exaggerated inhaling air, like she was in a breath mint commercial. "I'm just taking in that fresh Nuevo Leon coca factory smell."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"Oye, quiete!" snapped one of their escorts, a youngish black-shirted man with an intense but anxious look, brandishing an Uzi. "Keep moving."

Carlie regarded him calmly. "I used to eat cabrones like you for breakfast."

The guard nervously raised the Uzi. Carlie's green eyes narrowed. Even though she said nothing, her mocking demeanor made him shudder.

"¿Que onda? Andale, andale!" A harsh bark from inside the building straightened the soldier with the Uzi, who obeyed and silently motioned for the two women to follow.

Tate whispered to Carlie, "You, too. Drop it, for now. We've got bigger fish to fry."

They entered the reception hall, where a trio of important-looking men in suits stood, surrounded by a squad of cartel soldiers. One of them was a man with dark, slicked hair, hands casually tucked in the pockets of his fitted ash-gray Armani.

"Nice to see you again. Chica."

Carlie's breath all but stopped for a moment. "So you survived."

Gavin Betancourt smiled easily. "Surprised?"

"That's your ex?" whispered Tate to Carlie as they followed Betancourt's entourage. Without waiting for a response, she nodded with approval. "Hmm."

Carlie ignored her and turned her attention to Betancourt. "You're awfully quiet for someone doing a lot of nefarious planning."

He half-turned to meet her eyes for a moment, but his face betrayed nothing.

"That's it?" Carlie said, face flushed from either the Monterrey sun or impending rage. "You fall off the face of the earth for an eternity. I thought you were dead all these years, and now you turn up like a fucking ghost –"

Tate made a gesture of zipping her lips. "More like a mum-my."

"Shut it." Carlie turned her ire back to Gavin, who led them and his entourage to a conference room. "And you tell me nothing? Did all of that time together... did that mean nothing to you? Why don't you say anything? Answer me, goddammit!"

"That's because Senor Betancourt doesn't run this show, Senora Jackson." A blonde man in a tan suit sat on one side of a small conference table, regarding them through dark-rimmed glasses. "I do."

Tate's eyes dimmed. "Austin Stevens."

"And you must be Senora Genovese." Stevens nodded. "Please, sit."

The soldiers escorting them retreated and watched them sit on chairs opposite Stevens. "Refreshments?"

"No, thank you," Tate replied politely. Since we won't be here long. She had a tic of a surprise when she saw Stevens smile the moment the thought came to her. He gave Carlie an inquisitive look.

"Well, I guess I'm still on duty, so pass. I wouldn't mind a smoke, though."

Stevens considered her request, then nodded at a nearby guard, who brought an ashtray. He produced a lighter and a fat Cohiba still in its wrapping. Carlie reached into her jacket. About a half-dozen hands slapped on their concealed sidearms.